I rub my tired eyes, still raw from over-used tears. I swallowed up most of the feelings you could never see. Being ignored by you, I realize how pitiful it was of me to look to you with longing. I suppose I was barely on your axis, never a priority. You didn't think of me and how your actions could possibly hurt me. That's what hurts me and makes me feel cheap. If you could fake romantic feelings for her and disregard her feelings, you must have never taken my feelings seriously. It makes me sick and hate myself.

Temporary

It's in these lonely, bitter moments that I realize how downtrodden I've become, and when the lights are out, the distractions gone, I realize how comforting it would be to have your bright and shining warmth by my side in the wake of this terrifying and monumental loneliness. I ache for an end to what I perceive as a divide in physical and emotional proximity, between me and you, and everyone and everything I know. I'm not lost. I have an active lifestyle, but with the precious moments with myself, I am afraid. Seeking out the presence of another individual will not put a halt to these feelings. That, I know, because I have let others spend my time for me and all I am usually left with is a bitter tang of unfulfillment. I must remind myself that this profound uncertainty is only temporary, something that makes me distinctly human. It's just a transition. Thus, I escape into myself; I withdraw and let my insides feel like nothing. No distractions. I am feeling what I feel. It's normal. And I'm scared and terribly alone, yet I am not.

Being Human

Being human was a hassle for me. I don't enjoy love. I don't trust momentary happiness. I fall in and I fall out of them painfully and tragically. Establishing emotional connections though is primal instinct, and a vital part of the human experience. I want to be above it all—but I am not. I am very much human. People are walking, breathing, physical collections of trouble. They're careless in the way that they interact, and withdraw and disconnect from each other's lives. They impose upon and wreak havoc; it's such a complete, disgusting mess. The invisible web of relationships they purposefully maintain are so intimately intertwined, strong and fragile, and undoubtedly destructive. It is both beautiful and hideous to me, the way they love, give, and take.

I'm deleting my memories of you. Gone are the photos and texts you sent me. I saved them and I would look at them from time to time. Although I treasured them, I cannot stand to keep them anymore. I've removed almost all vestiges of you. I'm deepening the gulf between us. Nothing solid could have been established. I dreamt of you two times. I think about you a lot. The more hopeful I become, the more disappointment I set myself up for. I attempted to be a great friend and please you in the ways that I could. Over time, I could see the cracks in our friendship and all the dissimilarities, yet I tightened my hold on you. I held onto you so shamelessly because I did not want the truth to become reality. I constantly felt pain over my feelings. My desire was simply impossible. You could not take another step and I could not take another step. There was no concrete foundation below us. Your distance in the past year, coupled with the antagonism of your admirers, really broke my heart. In the end, I know that nothing will come out of this and that reality is unbelievably harsh. You make me extremely anxious and unsure of myself, and I can drop from great highs to a deep low. Your ignorance and unintentional carelessness really hurts me. I give up on you. I will let my feelings subside because our friendship has made me feel beyond lonely.

Though many people wish me a Happy Birthday, year after year, it seems to never turn out happy. As a child, birthdays constituted as an excuse to eat out, probably at a cheap buffet or ordering take out from a fancy-schmancy restaurant. I had only two parties; both were a dud. The first one failed because I was heavily introverted. Only two friends bothered to show up. My inadequate planning as a third grader was another major factor. As for the second party, that involved my extended family, which I’m not particularly close to.

After years of unfortunate outcomes, I concluded that I am bound to have disappointment on my birthdays.

Sophomore year was the time when my older brother came back from his university and I woke up to yelling. Seeing the negativity in the house, I attempted to mediate the arguments and my parents’ anger toward my brother was now directed to me. “No one cares about your birthday, bitch,” my father said. Not long before, my mom hit my knee with a metal bat because I had failed a test. The next day, they took away my computer for “talking back” to them. Clearly, my opinions are not valued.

As for junior year, I believe that was my only pleasant birthday. Coming back from school, I was exhausted yet excited to receive a phone call from my boyfriend. In his goofy voice, he sang to me.

During my senior year, I was stricken by the burden of school, anxiety of the future, and heartbreak from a breakup. I planned to meet with a group of friends and out of the three, only one showed up. One had forgotten that she had a church meeting. As for the other, who is supposedly one of my best friends, decided that spending time with her boyfriend was more worthwhile. My only friend who visited me was a family friend and I ended up eating with her family for dinner. She told me, “I would never miss your birthday.” I was grateful to her, but dismayed at the same time.

This year, I worked an eight-hour shift. Since it was far too late for a celebration, we decided the next day would be my birthday. Another eight-hour shift had passed and it was 1 PM. Then, I came home to police cars and distress. My parents had decided to have the police escort my older brother out of the house and into a mental hospital. I spent the rest of my day calling hospitals in a nearby city. I had a headache. By 8 PM, I had found him, but my birthday was forgotten.

My birthdays tend to leave me with a bitter taste. I don’t know if I absolutely hate them. Other than money, I am usually given rather disappointing gifts. It seems like most of my friends took a brief glimpse into my personality, and presented me with something impersonal and vague instead of intimate and sincere. Personally, I wouldn’t want to give anyone anything if the gift was not well thought-out.

When I give gifts, I truly want the item to be something my loved one will always treasure. I am forever proud of myself for spoiling my best friend of six years with a Zelda inspired glow-in-the-dark fairy necklace, a natural jade turtle keychain (imported from Greece), a Tim Minchin CD, a large cow plush doll, and a Resident Evil movie/game, of course, with a card. Since her mother is like a second mom to me, I bought her silver earrings with freshwater pearls and a delicate flower design. Upon seeing the gifts, her mother cried. We departed in our different ways once the dinner was over. My friend texted me, telling me that she almost cried.

Before my family friend left for university in New York, I met up with her because I had ordered the galaxy print leggings she wanted for ages. Seeing something she had yearned for become a physical reality, she was joyful beyond words. She now dons that galaxy print wherever she goes. It feels great to create good memories.

I find myself yearning to be told how wonderful I am and thanked for being brought to the world. I want to be surprised and brought to joyful tears. I want to be enthused at the thought of celebrating my birthday. I want to see a friend take on that duty of ensuring a Happy Birthday and going great lengths for a simple cause, because it's me. I only wonder when that time will come and how many more years it will be until then.

Thinking of you, I feel a literal pain in my chest, as if a foreign object had been wedged in between the narrow confines of my chest. When I move, it twists and jolts and stings in my ribcage. A severe expression of hurt had surfaced on my face so blatantly that a few co-workers asked, "Are you okay?" I walked around monotonously to allow the air to wash away the redness in my face and restrict the water pricking at my eyes. I now remember how it is to feel despondency and selfishness. I had forgotten how to feel. It's disgusting and sick how you have ruined me.

Over-scheduling seems to be the pillar of all my problems. I am drawn to the idea of accomplishing, never dawdling and always keeping busy. No time is reserved for socialization unless I see a beneficial purpose. Having various commitments, I feel strained by my immense desire to do more.

I see people older than me and it seems like they've hit a glass ceiling. Despite their capabilities, responsibility holds them back from unlocking greater potential. I don't want to follow in their footsteps. To me, it is shameful and disappointing. I can't be like that. I have to keep scheduling. I refuse to stay here past 21.

However, I haven't practiced what I need; instead, I've pulled myself in multiple directions. It's a disservice to myself and others. Prioritize, prioritize, prioritize, I tell myself. I won't be in the same place by 21.

Our routines give ourselves away. People like what is familiar and safe and widely understood. They attempt to hide themselves behind the shadow of another, yet they must cling to that last vestige of who they are or what they want to be. This appears in their words, gestures, and references. In writing, specific words can indicate a certain culture and upbringing, like one's socio-economic status or which ethnic group they belong to. Across every face is the same expression that caters to a specific role in society. It's not reinventing oneself, but mimicry by playing the same character in a show. I wonder how much people can read into me and how much they have found, and whether I was as generic as everybody else.

Expressing affection in the utterance of the words “I love you” seems so simple, but it was a phrase I could never tell my parents or brothers. I love you. I love you. It should not be such a strenuous task. Tenderness was never my forte. With significant others, I constantly choked on the words; my trembling carcass spilled out with saliva and waste, but never an I-love-you. I wrote small essays delineating my fondness for people before and struggled orate the painful passages. I felt myself suffocating with the phrase lodged in my throat. My fondness can be found in a mess of unsent, unspoken written letters and in the white emptiness of a Word Document where I deleted a typed message. My love is evident in my counter-productive struggle to permanently leave parasitic individuals in my life. Much of my thoughts about them remain locked in the safety of my head, partly because an I-love-you is not enough, and partly because my verbal delivery of the words will taint the purity and meaning behind the words.

However, when I attach an I-love-you next your name, it seems to fit naturally in my mind.

On the second to last day of summer, I, along with my parents, decided to explore a massive mall in San Bernardino called Ontario Mills. Our choice for that day was entirely on a whim and with only twenty or less minutes to prepare myself, I came to the resolution that, that day would be a makeup-free day.

A loud sales associate selling skin products targeted me that day. He approached me in a rude manner by stepping directly in front of me, demanding to know what brands I use and my methods of cleansing my face. Uncomfortable and peeved, I had to object several times to his prodding before I could move forward with my parents.

The methods he utilized were a stark contrast to the sales associates from other booths. While he seemed both desperate and forceful, the ones in the booths adjacent to his presented a relaxed image to those frequenting the mall by casually asking them if they were interested in so-and-so’s products.

Since I had been in the mall for nearly six hours, my face was probably colorless and drained or slightly red from exhaustion. I am not offended that he had terrible eyesight and couldn’t tell that I did not have acne. I, in fact, am offended that he tried to force me into a corner to aggressively coerce me buy his merchandise simply because he thought that there was something wrong with my face.

Makeup is always an interesting topic because it is associated with appearance, where many people’s insecurities lie. I once knew a girl that dated her boyfriend for three years and not once did he see her without her combination of foundation, powder, blush and blush, eye shadow, eye and brow liner, false eyelashes, and colored contacts. Her face was such an overwhelming package of cosmetics on a daily basis that whenever she took off her contacts, pus would come out of her eyes and skin appeared tired from the weight of its daily abuse.

When that man walked into my life that day in that single moment, I felt like he was implying my face was not good enough without makeup.

Many people I have befriended see themselves in that light, which I can truly empathize with. Makeup allows one’s beauty to radiate by complementing one's facial features. The skin glows with warmth, free of imperfection from a well-blended mix of bronzer, blush, foundation, and power.  Eyebrows and lips appear luscious and full thanks to eyebrow pencil and coats of lip balm, lip gloss, and/or lip stick.  The multi-faceted hues of the eye are emphasized through use of eye shadow and eyeliner.

However, there's no shame in bags and lines under the eyes, unfilled brows, one's natural lip color, and uneven coloration of skin tone. I think there’s something seductive about a completely natural and naked face.

Natural beauty, I find, is often overlooked by the imperfections we create in our mind and in ourselves. I appreciate my tired eyes, sharp nose, and gentle eyebrows. A unique mole marks my right cheek, where I have childlike pink flush which meshes well with my tan complexion. I am short and tiny, but there are times when I wish I could be thinner or more angular in terms of facial structure. Where I am in my life and what I have grown into is perfectly fine to me though. In the end, I have an immense constellation of feelings, thoughts, experiences, and physical qualities, and I do not need an outside opinion on how to dictate myself as I have grown into myself and become content just being Stephanie.

Emotionally compromised, my body trembles with weakness and my frustration presents itself plainly in my usually neutral face. Beholden to my feelings, I cannot easily dismiss them. It’s not a small object that can be tucked into a faraway vacant corner and remain forgotten or put on hold. Feelings demand to be felt.

In a battle between mind vs. heart, my rationale usually wins and my feelings are left neglected. I ignore them until my insides feel like nothing.

An acquaintance once told me, “I can’t help but feel as if you’ve seen a lot of misery and this has been ingrained upon you. You put on a smile to show a happy face, but your eyes show otherwise. It’s like your eyes are saying: I have seen it before and it doesn’t really affect me anymore.” At a party, a palm reader told me that I have and will deal with hardship, and that I have an amazing ability to overcome them. I seemed to be the only person she said that to at the party.

I found myself caught off guard by those comments. My eyes, as I looked into the palm reader’s face, began to water and there I was, naked against her sympathetic gaze. The pain that I had disregarded was finally being recognized and I was very ashamed. A woman I barely knew was able to pinpoint my weakness, yet people I have known for years have such a vapid glimpse into my personality.

However, I can’t be too disappointed in them. Two of the closest people in my life are people I haven’t even met. That in itself is a testament to my reserved nature. My best friend in real life is not much of a best friend. I never trusted my friend from sixth grade with the truth of my upbringing. Outside of the house, I have a clean slate and a family life that isn’t a depressing power struggle. My image as a confident and goofy girl is not something I am fully comfortable tarnishing.

I don’t want to give it up and I am hurt more than people know. I don’t trust most people with my problems, nor do I expect them to be reliable. Putting faith in people is so incredibly painful for me.

I saw a Korean drama recently about a king’s love for a concubine, who he eventually sentences to death due to the pressure of politics. As I waited for the concubine’s destiny to be fulfilled, I couldn’t help thinking about the steps that led to her death. Did he fall out of love with her? Did he fall in love with another woman? How long can you stay in someone’s favor before s/he lets you go?

One of my friends confessed to me, “I don’t believe in love.” I suppose I’m not too far from that mindset. The fact that people can simply let go of someone is upsetting. Promises end up worthless and cherished memories are trashed. I just... cannot fathom how people can abandon others without hesitation.

My confession is that I am disgusted in myself for believing in many people and that I do not want to believe in them, because I so desperately want to believe that behind their beautiful smile, there is sincerity rather than an ungrateful soul.

Greeeeeat. Just GREAT. Another creep. This time, it’s one at work and slowly, it has become a common theme in my life. Encounter after encounter, I have become increasingly repulsed and evasive with men. Unwanted physical contact and uncomfortable conversations are not pleasant. As my friend Raphael says, it’s a “perk to being a cute little Asian girl.” Ha. Ha. Ha. Nooot.

Several months ago, I had a tremendously awkward experience with my friend’s roommate, who repeatedly put me in an unusual social position. Let’s call him “D.” D sent me messages every day and night, despite my disinterested attitude. For me, receiving this type of attention is very unfamiliar, bizarre, and new, and I know how to approach it… In spite of that, I did not have the confidence to be forthright in such an unsettling situation. Eventually, I asked D if he liked me. After confirming that he did, I told him to stop with this kind of behavior and for a moment, he did.

D still constantly messaged me. This time, he was talking about pursuing other “cute girls” as an attempt to arouse jealousy in me. I confronted him yet again and deleted him from my contacts list. I spoke with my friend about D and according to him, D thought I was the “shy type” or “playing hard to get.” Frankly, that annoyed me, if not infuriated me. If I tell someone I don’t like him/her, I don’t like him/her. There is only one single meaning: “I don’t like you.” Nothing else.   

Did he think he was special? How can someone be that arrogant? Is that supposed to be an excuse for my lack of attraction to a disgusting, desperate person? I can imagine him saying, “Oh, it’s because she’s shy/gay/etc. I mean, there’s no way she could resist me. There HAS to be a reason.” If there was an emoticon for rolling my eyes and indicating irritation, I would use it now.

Months later—yesterday to be exact—D decides to send me a message yet again. My response was to ignore him. I refuse to feed the ego of someone so incredibly cocky.

My first year of college overall has been full of various creepy encounters. For one, I had a stalker in the library. I’ve had a couple of “admirers” in my classes that have been too “touchy-feely.” Thinking about it is sickening. I have needed to actually tell someone to not touch me. The past semester, I have been at school around twelve hours per day and my last class finishes at around 9 PM. One of my “touchy-feely” classmates thought it was a bright idea to grab me late at night.

I am known to be a reserved person and I dislike physical contact. I did what I naturally would do—I hit him and became angry. This was the same person that I specifically told to not touch me and this was the same day I told him that. I suppose I have a very “anti-men” attitude to me now, but I believe it’s justified.

As for my coworker, he is a twenty-five-year-old male and I am nineteen. I have been receiving inappropriate physical contact from him in the form of random embraces at work. Bear in mind that I have only met this person about five times… A few nights ago, I inquired about the schedule of one of our managers and received unhelpful and unnecessary flirtatious answers. I have decided to address his over-affectionate nature and ask him to discuss only job matters with me. If his activities are continued, I will have to contact the head manager.

That being said, I’ve come to the conclusion that one cannot act soft with unbearable people and not be too generous with the chances I give, hoping that they will change and save myself a great deal of frustration and stress.

Words cannot possibly explain how pleased I am with the live action adaption of Rurouni Kenshin. I have legitimately rewatched the movie every night before I go to bed and the more I watch it, the more I fall in love with the story. Rurouni Kenshin has been a big part of my life, especially my childhood, and it has gained its own throne as my favorite show of all time. Nothing can or will ever usurp it.

Every day at dinner, starting from third grade, I was utterly immersed in the story. I was beyond obsessed and you could say I had my eyes surgically attached to the television. Eventually, the plot went in a more graphic direction and the animated show was then shown late at night. I fought against my body’s time clock and broke my curfew as much as possible to keep up with the new episodes. The last arc of the story was never animated and the show was cancelled, thus causing me to resort to reading the manga.

From images on a screen to paper, and finally translated into a physical reality, I remain astounded that the story that filled my childhood with much joy was no longer two-dimensional. I have always had a desire to see this story come to life. No matter how many times I watched or read Rurouni Kenshin, there was a sense of satisfaction, yet a yearning for completeness.

 

Creative liberties were taken with the movie and a new story was forged together with elements of the original story, combined with stunning visuals and a tremendously talented cast. The time and effort, along with love, clearly shows in this work and, it honors the nostalgic memories of Rurouni Kenshin fans while maintaining the spirit of the original. True to the story and refreshing, I can truthfully say that is an almost perfect live action adaption of an anime and I am beyond grateful that it happened to be Rurouni Kenshin.

 

Growing up, I had a skewed image of myself. I wore sizes too large for my figure thanks to my mom. I bought my first tank top from Old Navy and was shocked that I could fit into an XS top. My friend thinks it was cruel of my mom to dress me in M, L, and XL.

I developed an image of what is the ideal body type according to the environment around me and constantly compared my body to others’, which left me with a sense of inadequacy and frustration. Despite being pretty lean myself, I wanted a smaller figure.

I saw my thighs as slabs of unwanted fat, pouring out from the holes of my underwear and closing the gap between my thighs. I found my arms flabby and my face chubby with the roundness of my cheeks. With pores like mine, my face would never be smooth and my eyebrows would forever remain bushy. 

Going into high school was a bit of a cultural shock. Gorgeous rich school and gorgeous rich people. At the time, I focused entirely on my academic performance and my self-esteem remained unfixed. Out of high school and into college, I saw a new chapter in my life unfolding and revamped my entire wardrobe, experimented more with makeup, and socialized at school. I focused on myself.

For me, that was a huge transition. I didn't indulge in myself and when I did, I learned my worth. Yeah, sometimes it is okay to treat yourself. With that, the weight of my negativity shed away.

I once was a girl that wanted to weigh a hundred pounds, which is foolish of me, because I would be underweight if I were. I now am nineteen-years-old young adult and I can truthfully say that I am satisfied with my appearance and body—for the most part. I struggle to accept my body even now and I should be proud of my size. What I am now is what I am meant to be—there’s no going against that. Loving yourself is a process that must take its course and a healthy body image comes with time.

I am scared of everything in my life. My life as of late is a mixture of school, work, and family issues mashed together in a wild clusterfuck. I don't feel strong. I want to cry so much. This week, I turned 19. Despite being a young adult, I feel absolutely directionless. I am helpless, frustrated, anxious, and disgusted with how overwhelming my life seems to be.

At school, I am there for long hours and I have had numerous unnecessary and unwanted encounters with men. Seeing dimensions of such behavior, I am, piece by piece, becoming increasingly suspicious men. No, I do not want you to touch me. No, I will not tolerate racism, nor will I condone sexist comments and/or invasion of privacy. I believe I have I have always kept a healthy distance from unfamiliar people, men and women, and I do not see myself as someone of a particularly sexist viewpoint. However, these negative encounters with the opposite gender have become much more frequent. Therefore, I feel that I may have to become more aware of myself and my surroundings, along with the people I associate with.

The day of my birthday, Thursday, I had a long shift and the day after, I had work from 5 AM to 10 AM. That being said, celebration of my birthday had to be postponed to Friday. Thursday night, my mother was complaining about my older brother and when I came back from work on Friday, I came home to police cars parked outside my house. I guessed correctly; my mom being the irrational person that she is, called the police to have them remove my older brother from the house. I should not have to come home from work to see my older brother being taken away by police. My parents were complaining to the police about my older brother's introverted nature and as a result, they took him to a psychiatric center, which I did not learn about until much later. I spent my entire Friday calling hospitals to find his location and dealing with terrible customer service.

My brother barely speaks to my parents. Their behavior is what repels him. They are closed-minded and overreact in the most extreme manner. I am disgusted with the fact I am related to parasitic shits that always abuse people verbally and physically. Growing up, they pushed us to achieve academically and there was always an atmosphere of fear in the household. These are the type of parents that would leave their child in the backyard for a whole night for "misbehaving." These are the same type of parents that would get upset with me for failing a test and then hit me in knee with a metal bat out of anger. Now, they rarely ever resort to violence, but they remain the excessively arrogant, authoritative people in a more subtle manner. To be frank, I am leaving out a large amount of information, but my older brother is not altogether. I have always had to protect him and I have to take care of him now.

Working part-time while going to college full-time, I am barely getting by with handling school and work. I'm stressed. Even my dog is stressed. Sophie has been sleeping in the living room instead of her bed upstairs, waiting for him for three days straight. I can't concentrate. It's just another down swing and I have to hope that it evens out, is what I keep telling myself. I have to formulate some sort of method of supporting him. My parents cannot possibly fathom how much stress I am under. My older brother nearly committed suicide when I was in eighth grade and my younger brother has ADD. Both are extremely socially anxious and introverted. To them, I am the "normal" one and most responsibilities go to me. I don't feel normal or alright. I feel overwhelmed and afraid of everything in my life. I feel alone with these type of thoughts.

Out of my brothers, I am the most social. I actually barely socialize now, as I do not have enough time, but I am not the socially awkward one in the family. I have to maintain my reputation. Responsibility of my appearance and achievements are capitalized. Lately, I have not had much time to converse with my best friend. Moreover, he is far too busy for me now. I was told that he has been depressed, leaving me frustrated because I cannot be a physical contrast troubles in his life, and as for me, I miss my best friend and I need his support as well... I don't know. I must persevere although I am taking on more than I feel that I can handle.

School. Study. Work. School. Work. Study. Work. Study. Work. Study. That is a brusque, yet accurate description of my schedule. On Mondays and Wednesdays, I have Psychology at 8:00 AM and one hour in between, before my General Biology class. Afterward, there is a two to five hour slot of time reserved entirely for studying, relaxing, eating, and/or napping. My last class begins at 7:00 PM and ends at 8:50 PM. Every other day, I am working. My shifts for work fluctuate, but once I finish my shifts, I studystudystudy.

Being a full-time student while working part-time is more stressful than I had originally anticipated. The small time frame left in the day that is not consumed by school, work, or studying is usually my time for relaxing. Another way to put it is spacing out, sleeping, eating at home because I forget to eat at/before school and work, or communicating with some friends to compensate for my slowly depleting social life.

I can't say I'm a fan of school or work right now. My professor for General Biology is overbearing personality-wise. He is loud, rude, picks favorites, and his exams are impossible. As someone who has never scored below average, I am not confident with this class, as I cannot see any defined direction of where I am headed with this class. Work is an entirely new story. In a few mere months, I have attained a great deal of knowledge on how to conduct myself socially, multi-task efficiently and quickly, work as a member of a team, and customer service skills. However, working in a restaurant has exposed me to a new side to people. I can truthfully say that customers are unreasonable, but it's a circumstance where you must simply bear with inappropriate behavior, bite your tongue, and swallow your pride because the customer is "always right."

This depresses me to some level, because children, possibly fourteen to sixteen-years-old, are being introduced into the labor force and face appalling behavior from adults. Without a doubt, this experience has made me much more empathetic toward workers. I am going to be a kind customer to all employees of any work environment, not that I was ever a terrible customer to anyone.

To be frank, this entire week has felt like a nightmare for me. A few days ago, a stranger tried to stalk me via Facebook while I was sitting across from him at the school library. He almost sent me a friend request had I not given him the excuse that I only use Facebook for contacting classmates for help with school (which is half true). I then forced one of friend to come fetch me once her class was over so I could escape being put in yet another unfavorable position. I have only had a few interactions with this person, but every time I see him, I want to turn the other way. He is over-affectionate and consistently tries to touch me, which is not within my comfort level. (Plus, he smells.) Moreover, he becomes excessively excited; he starts speaking loudly to get my attention and waves his hands/arms around violently, while making a huge grin.

Keep in mind that I barely associate with him... but I think that even without that fact, my reasons for feeling uncomfortable are completely validated. Along with that, I have seen his deviantART, which seems to be an outlet for him. Journal entry after entry, his deviantART is full of whining about not having a "girl." Not long before the stalking incident, he tried to subtly ask me about my romantic life repeatedly and I told him I have no interest in dating anyone in my college. I simply do not trust his intentions whatsoever. I believe I will now be avoiding the school library.

Another incident I had this week was with a stupid, ignorant fuck. I texted a classmate about the previous situation. I received this as a response, "You're an Asian female, so don't you have to be the super quiet, submissive type?" Excuse me? If you did not send that through text, you would regret speaking to me in that manner.

As for work, I believe that further details are not necessary. Work is work, and customers are terrible. Overall, I am frustrated with people and, their inexhaustible ability to be difficult and overbearing, but I will keep my head up and have a better day.

I have changed. No doubt about that.

Last Thursday, I had a seven-hour shift at work and during my ten-minute break, I caught sight of a man I once knew. He was the father of my ex-best friend, whom I now have a very convoluted, unstable relationship with. Amused with seeing a familiar face, I sent his daughter a text. I then received a friendly reply about him being unemployed and using the restaurant’s free Internet connection to complete online job applications. I simply informed her about my manager’s store policy: customers are not allowed to loiter and will be forced to leave within thirty minutes. With that in mind, I suggested that her father go to the library for its Wi-Fi to avoid an unfavorable encounter with my manager. Plus, the library is open until nine on weekdays, leaving a wider time frame for those type of tasks. For that, I earned disrespect from her. Frustrated with her for accusing me of being “judgmental” and “trying to kick him out,” I told her specifically that choice is entirely up to the manager as she is the only one with the power to do so.

That experience made me realize something important: she was not far from the person she was back in middle school, over-sensitive and delusional. She hears what she wants to hear and cannot bear any negative feedback. Time after time, she has proven herself to be selfish and completely ignorant of how she hurts other people. Most interactions with her are stressful. Not once did I remember not having drama in my life because of her constantly instigating drama and then hiding behind a guise of innocence. She misused my kindness and hid behind excuses. For insulting my appearance, she told me she was feeling terrible about hers and, wanted a "confidence booster" and outlet for her negativity. According to her, she knew that I "would understand." For never visiting me, she told me it was because my mother hated her. That is a fact. Because she did not visit me, I visited her because she begged me and for that, my mom beat me. Of course I was angry with her for multiple reasons that I don't remember now, but she never gave me a proper apology.

She is eighteen-years-old and, does not know how to take responsibility and admit her wrongs because of her victim complex. I remember the days when she had straight As and in high school, her grades plummeted, leaving her to resort to home schooling and charter school where she had little outside social interaction. As of now, she is in community college and I do not know whether she will transfer. It seems that our stages in life have flip-flopped. While I have never let my grades go below average, I was once an uncomfortable little girl. I had no direction with carrying myself socially. I took the longer path to destinations to avoid being seen. I hated what I saw in the mirror and regretted the majority of my actions because I felt that I was an absolute failure in social conduct. Going into high school, I realized my passion, yet I chose to skirt around by enrolling in a community college. I kept my options open and in the end, this has only reaffirmed my love for art. I know where I am headed in life, though I can't say the same for her.

I do not necessarily hate or dislike her. In fact, she was a large part of my life when I was younger and that has shaped the person I am. However, I am astonished by how varied our lifestyles are now. Never would I have guessed that this would be our paths in life back in eighth grade.

Looks like I can't sleep tonight. Already 3:14 AM and my thoughts are just in a jumbled up bunch, exploding and bouncing about in my head. As always, I am thinking about the future and an artistic career. I'm only 18 and I've barely tasted life. I cannot possibly fathom how people can easily decide where and what they want to do with their lives. In about 17 years, an enormous decision must be made: choose a college as well as major, and use that as a setting point to guide you for the rest of your lives. I can't do that.

Hopefully I do not give off an arrogant impression–I know I carry an artistic capacity. While I am not the most talented, I do have some talent in art. I chose not to pursue an art career directly by attending an art school. In fact, I am in community college, partly because I am nervous and insecure, partly because I want to avoid making a concrete decision, partly because I am afraid of the hardships of pursuing my impossible, yet reachable dreams, and partly because I don't want to see myself fail if I do fail. (I plan to transfer to an art school later on though.)

An insurance agent visited my household the other day to discuss finance with my parents and implement added structure to our past insurance plan. He asked about my older brother and his future. Then, the topic changed to me and my aspirations.

Insurance Agent: So what does Stephanie want to do? Does she have a job yet?
Mom: She is going to have a job. (My first day of work was after this day.) And she says she wants to go into fine arts. We are letting them (my brothers & I) make their own decisions and they're adults.
Insurance Agent: (laughs) Don't like only 10% only make it? It sounds interesting, but I don't think that's financially stable.
Mom: Well, she will have to learn for herself.

Yesterday, I met an employee from Amgen Inc. What he told me was also disheartening. He suggested that my endeavors with art should be switched over to science. I don't doubt that a career associated with the study of science would be extremely rewarding, but I simply cannot see myself in that field. As I continued my conversation with him, he suggested doing art "on the side" with science as my main focus. From childhood to even now, I have remained passionate about art and to hear those mincing words yet again, I feel bitter.

As of now, my feelings would be best described as "shaken." I don't feel like I have a strong support system and the constant spewing of the difficulties of an art based career doesn't soothe my lack of confidence. I remember my friend's father, a successful commercial artist, telling me the difficulties of the pursuit for an artistic future. It was not a "you cannot survive being an artist," but "it is difficult to become an artist because you need a great deal of training and heart." He has reworded that to me several times and me, being the weak person that I am, let those words trouble me. When I am unable to affirm my worth and value my skills, I convince myself that I cannot become what I want to become, because I do not take it seriously. In reality, it seems that I take it so seriously that I discourage myself. Not surprisingly, I am my worst critic.

Funny how revelations come late at night. I suddenly had a rush of memories and remembered how he told me that art was his greatest passion, that he took whatever art class caught his interest, that he honed his skill as an artist, and with that knowledge blended together, he was able to decipher a specific art job to dedicate himself to for the rest of his life. That being said, I will try to stop complicating my situation and when I am in an art school, I will take part in as many art classes possible that appeal to me and dictate my life. Call me a selfish American girl, but if not many people believe in me, I suppose I will have to pave my own path. The decision has not come easy for me, and skirting around instead of directing myself under a specific art path seems stressful. I have wasted so much time. I will let my interests guide and I will decide from there.

Also, according to The Huffington Post, graphic design, multimedia artists/animators, architecture, and interior design are fields with bright futures. Perhaps I will look into that and find light where I have always found a dark, uncertain unknown. I've been be intensely focused on fashion; maybe I should learn to design patterns and prints! I really don't know. I'm scared and this stressful mindset isn't helping me. I just need to be hopeful and let the pieces fall where they fall.

Life Update

Already, it is 6:19 AM and yet again, I have failed to sleep at a regular time. I am sure that as the year progresses, the workload from school and other activities will act as an outlet for my excess energy.

What have I accomplished so far? Finish one semester of school and begin a second one. Check. Get a job. (Got one within two weeks.) Check. Get an invitation from a honor society for "superior academic performance"? Wasn't expecting that.

I have yet to confirm my membership in the honor society. While I do recognize the benefits of joining one, I am worried about how much time I would be able to reserve for the honor society. I plan to attend the orientation and with that, I wish to tailor my schedule around school, work, and the honor society. I truly do not want to give up any academic opportunities.

So far, I have only taking courses that are required in my community college. Of course, I want to transfer into a school that focuses on/associated with my career interest, art. Now that I have job, I will have money. I want to increase the probability of being successful/skillful in art. Perhaps I will save money for an art program/classes. I believe I need to figure out which art school I want to be in enrolled in first though. Then, I could adjust my schedule and take units transferable to that school.

So many paths to take and ways it could branch out!

Misjudging one's own life is extremely easy. Simple pleasures come at little to no cost and, troubles fade in and out like a gentle breeze. Having always lived in a safety net otherwise known as Camarillo, a peaceful city full of old people, I believe I have lived a nice life overall. That being said, I have reason to be tremendously grateful. Many people are kind to me and consistently forgiving. For their grace, I feel that I am in debt to them. In recognition of the expectations and responsibilities placed upon me, I wish to improve myself.

I am grateful to my family, especially my parents despite their draconian methods.
I am grateful to the Lee family for becoming a second family to me.
I am grateful for the friends that have supported me and remained in contact with me, refusing to let their connection with me to die.

I am so grateful to many people that I wish I could write them all an essay, describing their worth to me. However, it would be an extremely ineffective process as I would not be able to find the proper words.